


Hush Little Birdie, Don't You Cry

by Len_suilon_mellon



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Nightwing (Comics), The Flash - All Media Types
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Damian Wayne Gets a Hug, Damian Wayne Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson is Damian Wayne's Parent, Dick Grayson-centric, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Protective Dick Grayson, Touch-Starved, no beta we die like jason todd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-19 06:28:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29746365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Len_suilon_mellon/pseuds/Len_suilon_mellon
Summary: Dick finds out Damian had a nightmare, and he is determined to make sure Damian knows he is not alone.
Relationships: Damian Wayne & Wally West, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson/Wally West
Comments: 8
Kudos: 174





	Hush Little Birdie, Don't You Cry

Dick’s eyes snapped open. After a late night patrol in Gotham with the rest of his family, he and Wally had mutually decided to stay at the manor. They had been visiting for the weekend, so they had already planned on taking Dick’s old room, and had fallen asleep the moment they hit the mattress, entangled in each other’s arms. Now, the plastic stars Bruce had hung on his ceiling as a surprise for his tenth birthday winked down at him. He stared back, unsure what had woken him in the first place. He doesn’t remember dreaming, so he quickly ruled out a nightmare.

From the corner of his eye, he caught movement coming from the left side of the room near the doorway, and quickly turned towards it, tensing in anticipation and attempting to discover its source. Though the room was shrouded in the shadows and darkness that accompanied the early hour, a sliver of light entered through the bottom of his door, most likely a result of the moonlight filtering through the hallway windows just outside his room. There, a shadow shifts, hesitating as if its owner might knock, before finally moving away.

 _Ah, that must be Tim,_ his mind supplies, and his body slowly relaxes. The corner of his lips twitch into a small smile. He loves his brother dearly—he loves all of his siblings, really—but he is well aware that Tim’s sleeping habits are far from ideal; his brother tended to make a habit of existing for days on nothing but coffee, energy drinks, and fumes.

He sighed in equal parts fondness and exasperation. A rumpled Tim Drake may be one of the most adorable sights he had ever set his eyes on, but his brother needed sleep. Tim wasn't going to willingly go to bed without interference, and, as of right now, it looked like that interference was going to be Dick. He doesn’t want a repeat of last week: He had found Tim passed out in the middle of the kitchen floor, and he had to pick him off the cold, unforgiving tile to carry him upstairs to his room.

Before Dick followed through with his plan to coax Tim to sleep, he first fought with the pile of blankets pinning him in place, turning over on his side to face his husband. Wally was still out cold, his face blissfully relaxed, breathing deeply. Dick allowed himself a small smile: His heart felt warm and fuzzy at the sight of his husband like this. Wally, being the hyperactive speedster that he was, was always alive with a humming, nervous energy, which usually found its release in the forms of finger-tapping, leg-shaking, and fidgeting. Because of this, Dick treasured the rare moments—like the one he was currently witnessing—where he could enjoy the peaceful stillness that encompassed the red-head.

He slid closer towards Wally and pecked his forehead softly, the kiss eliciting a small upturn on his husband's lips, and Wally attempted to snuggle closer to him. Dick huffed a laugh, humoring Wally’s sleepy antics for a few seconds before hyping himself up enough to get out of bed and find his brother.

He counted to ten in his head in an attempt to summon the monumental willpower required to extract himself from the octopus hug his husband had him in, then turned back to face the door. Shivering slightly, he crawled out of the covers and swung his legs over the side of his bed. A chill ran up his spine as his bare feet touched the cold floor, but he was too far into his quest to back down now.

He tip-toed out of his room, cracking the door open and stopping it just before it reached the width where he knew the hinges would squeak before heading down the hallway. He made no sound; all the bats, barring Tim, were light sleepers and would wake fully alert at the sound of a dropped pin, courtesy of being a vigilante.

The halls were dim, but the moonlight streaming through the windows allowed his eyes to adjust quickly. He knew the way well—his own bedroom was located in the same wing, and he had considered the manor home since he was eight. As he traveled along, he passed several of his siblings' doors: Cass, Duke, Damian, and even Jason were all asleep within their respective rooms, the latter having decided to crash at the manor after assisting the family with Bruce’s latest trafficking case.

Dick shuddered. Even though he had been Nightwing for years now, it never seemed to get any easier to witness the horrors of Gotham’s nightlife. The children they had found last night had been terrified, tears streaming down several of their faces as they silently called for their parents, too afraid of the punishment their captors might inflict upon them to utter such pleas aloud. Dick steeled himself; they had caught the thugs responsible. The case was over, and his family had worked tirelessly with the GPD to help locate all the kid’s homes. There was no use mulling over what-ifs now.

He finally reached Tim’s door. Surprisingly enough, he found it closed. _Interesting,_ he thought. That usually meant Tim had actually listened to Bruce, Alfred, or his own nagging for once and had retired for the night. Slowly, in an attempt not to arouse Tim from his slumber in the unlikely case that he was already out cold, Dick opened his younger brother’s door and peeked his head inside. He chuckled quietly to himself at the sight that greeted him.

Out of all of the bats, Tim always slept the heaviest—for one reason only: Tim never slept. So, when he finally ran himself ragged, he crashed wherever he was until his body had deemed that it had sufficiently replenished itself enough to function properly. Now was clearly such a time: Tim was face-down, starfished halfway onto his bed, his covers draped haphazardly across himself, wearing only boxers and a single sock. The other had mysteriously disappeared, nowhere to be found.

Sighing fondly, Dick crept into Tim’s room. He wrestled Tim fully onto his bed, removed his remaining sock, and bundled him under the covers. He froze when Tim whined quietly, afraid he had accidentally woken the younger in his attempts to reposition him. He breathed out quietly in relief as Tim settled back down. He smiled, heart feeling gooey in his chest at the adorable picture of a cozy Tim. He stroked his brother's cheek with the pad of his thumb and planted a feather-light kiss in his hair before he decided it was time to head back to his own room.

He spared Tim one last glance before creeping back to the door, shutting it gently, and getting ready to stealthily embark on his return journey.

Just as he passed Damian’s door, he heard a noise. Pausing, he strained his ears, attempting to determine if he had actually heard something, or if he had imagined it. He was patient, standing still for several minutes before the noise repeated itself—this time he could clearly identify that the source was coming from within Damian’s room.

Dick quickly moved towards the door and leaned close. From here, he could clearly make out what sounded like Damian’s signature _“Tt,”_ along with a noise that sounded suspiciously like sniffling. “Dami?” Dick called softly as he rapped his knuckles gently on the door in an attempt to warn his youngest brother before he barged into the room. The shuffling halted immediately—Damian’s tension was palpable even through the closed door. Damian sighed, seemingly realizing, entirely correctly, that Dick would enter on his own if he was not let in. The clear sound of Damian’s footsteps approached, and the handle was jostled slightly. There was a slight hesitation before the door swung fully open and revealed the youngest Wayne.

Dick wasn't sure what he was expecting, but he was definitely not prepared for the sight of Damian in the state he was in: The young boy’s hair stuck out in several different directions—most likely a product of running his fingers anxiously through his dark locks. His eyes had dark crescents beneath them, making his child-like face appear gaunt and haunted. And that wasn’t even the worst part—Damian's eyes were bloodshot, almost as if he had been crying. After he had opened the door, Damian’s arms had come up to wrap protectively around himself, but they tightened their grip when he heard Dick’s sharp inhale, flinching backwards at the sound.

 _“Dami,”_ Dick breathed, suddenly filled with worry at the sight of his younger brother. He cautiously brought his arms up to place them on Damian’s shoulders; Dick had learned the hard way that Damian didn’t take well to easy affection when he was feeling particularly vulnerable. His time at the League hardened him, making Dick's poor, sweet little brother believe he should be able to function at peak condition without "inferior desires," such as hugs and cuddles—they were considered a weakness to be trained out of.

Dick itched to comfort his brother, to understand what had made Damian so upset, but he needed to relocate them out of the hallway. Damian would never open up if he thought there was a chance the moment could be intruded on by the others. Dick gently guided Damian back into the room and closed the door behind him.

“Dami, habibi, please tell me what’s wrong,” Dick begged. Upon hearing the endearment, Damian’s guarded expression broke down, and the tears that had previously threatened to spill down his cheeks did so now, their tracks trailing long lines down his face. Dick couldn’t stand it anymore—he scooped his brother up into his arms, pressing the boy's head into his shoulder, and rocked him slowly. Damian’s breathing sped up, and he hiccupped through more sobs, his body shaking at the contact.

Dick’s heart, already broken from the sight of his brother that had greeted him at the door, shattered into thousands of pieces after seeing the full extent of the state that Damian was in. The younger boy's arms came up and wrapped around Dick’s neck in a fiercely reciprocated hug, burying his face into the crook of Dick’s shoulder.

“Shh, you’re okay, habibi. I won’t pretend I know what’s wrong, but we'll get through it, no matter what happened,” Dick crooned in an attempt to calm Damian down. He brought one of his hands up to rub Damian’s back, continuing to rock Damian until the boy’s cries had died down, which took several minutes. Eventually, the young Robin sniffled a few times before attempting to draw away, embarrassment coloring his features as he frantically rubbed at his teary eyes.

“Tt, it is nothing of your concern, Grayson,” Damian started to struggle weakly, but it was clear to Dick that the younger’s attempts were half-hearted at best.

“Well, something is clearly bothering you, so I think that’s enough for me to be concerned,” Dick informed him warmly, afraid that if he says the wrong thing, Damian was going to clam right back up. Dick awkwardly maneuvered both of them over to Damian’s bed and sat down, where Damian was now seated in Dick's lap with his legs hanging down both sides of Dick’s thighs. Dick gently ran his hand through his brother's hair. “Please tell me, little D?”

Damian averted his eyes; they’re clearly still glassy from crying, and Damian has begun to scratch at his arm—a nervous tick he had developed over the time Dick had known him. “At least tell me how long you’ve been up,” Dick pleaded, thinking a different approach might help, especially one where less personal details were involved.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity to Dick, Damian looked back at him. “I was awakened merely ten minutes ago,” Damian whispered, voice quieting as he struggled to get out a full answer; the end of his confession was just barely audible. Dick frowned to himself, and Damian misinterpreted Dick’s frown as a sign of disappointment towards himself, and tried once more to pull away. Dick struggled to keep Damian in his arms, trying desperately to understand what could have upset Damian to such an extent.

“I woke up ten minutes ago too,” Dick tried, hoping the connection will encourage Damian to share more information. Instead, his words seem to have the opposite effect: Damian’s eyes blew wide, and his struggles redoubled in effort.

“I apologize. It was not my intention to wake you. I do not require assistance,” Damian said stiffly as he continued his attempts to extract himself from Dick’s hug. _Oh,_ Dick thought, _it must have been Damian’s shadow I saw earlier._

“Damian, what do you mean by that?” he prompted gently, imploring Damian to go on. This gets Damian’s attention, and the struggling slows. Damian sucked in a deep sigh, his eyes fluttering shut for a brief minute, before reopening them and meeting Dick’s gaze.

“I had not meant to disturb you at this hour. I was startled awake from a nightmare about my time spent with the League, and I childishly craved physical reassurance that I was no longer there,” Damian mumbled as his eyes drifted shut once more. He looked resigned, almost as if he was expecting a reprimand.

Dick’s heart squeezed in his chest. He knew the League of Assassins had done terrible things to Damian, where the young boy had endured torture disguised as “training,” but he had never understood how someone could do that to a child. Especially _his_ child. Sure, Damian was prickly on the outside, and heaven only knows how many fights he and Tim had gotten into over trivial altercations, but he was a sweet kid deep down. He loved drawing breath-taking nature scenery, featuring playful squirrels and multi-colored autumn leaves. He spoiled his several pets rotten, making sure they received nothing less than the best food and care. And he was the most loyal person Dick had ever encountered—Dick trusted Damian with his life, something he could say about very few people.

It hurt Dick to think that no one had bothered to look beyond the hardened mask Damian kept in place in an attempt to catch a glimpse at the kindness Damian tried so hard to hide. He squeezed Damian into an even bigger hug, hard enough that the back of his mind worried the poor boy might be squashed entirely.

 _“Damian, no,”_ he breathed, “you can always come to me if you want a hug. It doesn’t matter how late it is. I don’t care how far away I am, and I won’t even ask you what the circumstances are if you don’t want me to, but I will always do my best to be there for you when you need me. You mean _the world_ to me, Damian, and I would hug you all day if you’d let me.” Damian melted into his arms, boneless in the wake of Dick’s declaration. His shoulders shook once again, and Dick could hear his sobs starting back up.

“How can you say such kind words? I am nothing but a failure! My own past haunts me!” Damian gasped out, but his arms came up to encircle Dick in a reciprocated hug and clung to Dick frantically, as if Dick might push him away at any moment.

Dick pulled Damian back slightly so he could look in Damian’s eyes as he spoke next. “Listen to me: You are _not_ a failure, Dami. The League was cruel to you. Your own mother and grandfather tortured you, and tried to call it love. It’s perfectly understandable that you would want physical affection to reassure you that you are loved. Sometimes you just need a little proof. _And that’s okay,_ ” Dick told him, and wrapped Damian up in another hug, and let Damian cry himself out.

They sat clinging to each other for a while until the remainder of Damian’s tears had slowed. Dick had resumed rocking Damian at some point, shushing him gently every now and then, offering him gentle, reassuring words of love. “Do you want to sleep with Wally and me tonight?” Dick asked quietly.

While Damian had openly declared his displeasure towards his brother's partner when he had first met Wally, his irritation had since been soothed. Eventually, it became clear to him how devoted Wally was to his favored brother; Wally had worn him down through relentless attempts to "hang out" and do "fun activities" with him and the rest of the Wayne family. Dick's family meant everything to him, so Wally made sure to integrate them into his own life too.

Dick could feel Damian hesitate, then nod against his shoulder. He ducked his head into the crook of Damian’s neck and smiled, ruffling his brother's already messy hair as he stood up, still holding Damian in his arms all the while. Together, they made their way out of Damian’s room and back down the hall. Damian fell asleep on Dick’s shoulder as they embarked on the return journey, burnt out from the countless tears he had shed.

Propping his brother against his hip with one arm, Dick used the other to pull back the covers on his side of the bed. He lowered Damian onto the middle of the mattress, situating him comfortably before clambering up next to him. Dick pulled the blankets over both of them, turning to face Damian and cuddling his younger brother against his chest. He arranged himself around his brother’s sleeping form and breathed a sigh of contentment when he finally settled. Dick was a physical being, and he craved any form of oxytocin his family would willingly provide him with—sometimes unwilling forms too, when it came to Jason and Damian.

Wally stirred on the other side of the bed, woken by the jostling they had caused as they had settled in. “W’as happen’in?” he slurred as he blinked sleep out of his eyes. Dick flashed him a small smile and shushed him, moving one hand to point at Damian’s sleeping form and mouthed _“nightmare”_ to his husband. Wally hummed deep in his throat, turning to face the other two. He smiled as he looked at Damian, and he reached a hand up to card through the exhausted Robin’s hair.

After gently stroking the boy's midnight locks, his fingers trailed down Damian’s back, where they began tracing light, nonsensical patterns, the calming motion soothing the already sleeping child. Eventually, Wally’s eyes began to droop once more, and scooted closer to the pair, draping one arm over both Damian and Dick. He sighed happily before fading back to sleep. Dick smiled as he watched two of the most important people to him breathe evenly for a few more minutes before drifting off himself.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is mostly self-indulgent, but I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
